The Black Bow
by Liebling
Summary: Ginny has an odd habit. DracoGinny


~*~  
  
Sometimes, he'd look at her, with that malignant glint in his silvered big eyes. Sometimes she'd look at him, with this deep look of admiration in her peach cobbler colored eyes.  
  
But sometimes they didn't look at each other.  
  
For it was all so much easier then.  
  
Then, they didn't have to feel the passion with every glimpse. Then, they didn't have to deny the perfectly obvious. And then, they could just go on with their silly little lives, in this silly little world that we were all placed in. For it was all a lot nicer that way.  
  
Nicer, but not necessarily better.  
  
They were both so young, then. In comparison to the present.  
  
She used to always wear that big black bow in her messy, curly, carrot hair. That black bow that was always so ugly and contrasted horribly with her hair. But no one cared much, for she was young, and no one cares much for the young. She liked the bow though, it was black, the color of black licorice, and she liked black licorice. And the bow, she always conceded, was "nice" and '-practical-.' Not to mention, in her mind, and in her mind only, "spiffy." That was only whilst she was young though, for only the young care naught of what others say.  
  
He would always tow around that broom. The broom that was just so handsome for a broom. It was so gaudy, a public display that you were rich. So rich. And could thus spend money on frivolous things. Frivolous things like brooms. But no one cared much, for he was '-popular-' and the popular can get away with murder. Perfectly justified, I'm sure. They marveled at his broom, and he enjoyed the attention, but only a bit. The broom was the color of light caramel, the caramel reminded him of caramel apples. His Mother used to always make those.  
  
Their paths never crossed. For he was in the "dirty" house. Where all the bad people stayed, her parents told her. She was young then, she always listened to them. Her older brother told her to not talk to him. She never questioned him. So, she did not walk near the green, snake-like table. Of course, in her own mind as well, he didn't seem very nice.  
  
And she did not like people who were not nice.  
  
Of course, his family told him that the "red and gold" people were evil rats. Rats. Who belonged in sewers, unsanitary sewers. They mentioned other things about them, but he couldn't recall all of it. Only most. He didn't speak to her, at least not directly, for that would be wrong, and it would earn him a shiner. No, not from her brother, no not from Potter, but from his Father.  
  
Things in the world were scary like that. Especially when you were young.  
  
They used to secretly meet at a cranberry tree. There was this-  
  
Appeal  
  
To it. This silly little appeal, as though you were about to elope or something. She liked that. Sometimes.  
  
It was their place. Merely for them. And not for another soul. He taught her how to get there, for it was at a secluded place on the grounds.  
  
"If you tell me," she told him, "I swear I won't tell another soul. Cross my heart."  
  
He gawked at the promise, "I'm not sure-"  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
So he told her.  
  
The cranberry tree was over-grown, and giant, sometimes, she thought, it would just swallow her if she wasn't careful. He always told her that, at least.  
  
"It'll swallow you up, you know," he said his white teeth showing through the grin, "honestly."  
  
"Will you be here to save me?" she asked innocently putting her head upon his shoulder.  
  
"Can't make promises," the boy laughed and dusted off his velvet cloak.  
  
She giggled.  
  
Just sixteen she was. And the funny thing, she didn't even know why she agreed to meet with him on Thursdays. Or any other day of the week, for that matter. For his family name was a '-bad-' one. The good girl did not associate with bad things. And he was sarcastic-  
  
And rich.  
  
She didn't like him. And she probably never would. For some things were just like that. And some things, ought to stay that way. She just knew that he was interesting. For evil is so much more interesting than good. Always. And forever.  
  
"And then he killed him," he said, speaking of his Father.  
  
"And then what?" she asked, squirming and looking up at him.  
  
"And then he threw the corpse into the lake by our Manor," the boy said.  
  
"Oh," she said, "that's awful sad. Ain't it?"  
  
"It has to be that way," he told her. "I remember, the lake was red with dirtied blood the next day. Bitter blood. Sweet blood."  
  
"Oh," she said, "that's awful morbid. Ain't it?"  
  
"You're listening to it," the young man retorted coolly. "You asked. I told."  
  
"I'm sorry," she told him her eyes shining in terror, "I'm sorry you had to live like that."  
  
"Don't be sorry," he said his blond hair coming out in wisps in front of his eyes, "some things have to be that way."  
  
Indeed.  
  
He wasn't exactly sure why he allowed her to 'hang' with him. For she was awfully annoying. All of those questions. All of those cotton flowered dresses. Honestly, she put quite a damper on everything. Especially with those little comments, like:  
  
"Be nice!"  
  
Certainly. He put up with her though, for whatever reason. Unknown. He just knew she was different than his other friends, she cared about things. Things that no one else cared about. Things that no one else thought about.  
  
"I like caramel apples," she told him one day underneath the gray sky.  
  
"Do you then?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she replied.  
  
"I like them too."  
  
"I'm glad," she beamed.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"At least you're capable of liking something," she giggled.  
  
He scowled.  
  
For some odd reason, he was quite taken with that black bow of hers. The ugly one. The one she "forgot" to ever take off.  
  
"I like it," she replied tugging at it gingerly.  
  
"But it's-" he paused "-ugly. Anyone with eyes could see that."  
  
"Ugly," the young girl with the shawl on said, "in your eyes."  
  
"It's ugly," he went on doggedly, "it just is. And it isn't opinion. It's fact."  
  
Her cheeks turned scarlet as she took the bow out of her hair, undid the fasten and then-  
  
She fastened it to his hair. His whitish blond hair. The hair that was swinging delicately in the wind.  
  
"It's pretty now," she said. "Are you happy now?"  
  
He chuckled, "Royally."  
  
"Good," the girl told him, "for when I look at it, I don't think it's ugly."  
  
She held out her hand and he hastily took it. He unfastened the bow from his hair and clipped it back on to her copper tresses.  
  
"That's better," he said leaning back to look at it.  
  
"Why?" she asked.  
  
"Because, if you like it," he told her in a mock-whisper "then I like it as well."  
  
~*~  
  
Ah lah Fin 


End file.
